


the true meaning of friendship (and zombies)

by Teaotter



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exchanging gifts. And snark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the true meaning of friendship (and zombies)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts).



It is the day before Christmas Eve at the Marshal's office, and though they are technically working that Thursday, very little work is actually being done. Eleanor hasn't even turned her computer on at all, and there’s a red-nosed reindeer balanced on the papers in Stan's in-box. Marshall has been calling all of his witnesses to wish them happy holidays, Christmas, Kwanzaa, or Yule, depending on their religious and celebratory preferences. For himself, Marshall likes Christmas, but a solid day of love and joy is something he can support in any religion.

Eleanor has outdone herself with decorations this year: There are (fake) garlands strung along the walls, static stickers of Santa and his elves (also clearly fake) on all of the glass partitions, and a tiny (real) Christmas tree perched next to the coffee machine. Stan has been wearing a Santa hat nonchalantly all morning.

Mary is sitting hunched over her desk and grumbling softly to herself. Her jacket is thrown haphazardly over the chair back, as if she wants to be able to escape at a moment's notice. No sign of Christmas has been left within three feet of her desk. There is garland in her garbage can, with a broken ornament on top from slamming her coffee mug around too close to the tree first thing in the morning. Eleanor told her that any more broken ornaments would require them to start playing Alvin and the Chipmunks' Christmas carols on the office speakers for the rest of the day, and Mary has steered away from the coffee machine ever since. The lack of coffee isn't helping her mood.

Marshall wisely waits until the office has cleared out for lunch to approach her.

"I've got something for you," he says, holding out the gold-wrapped box he'd brought in to the office that morning.

Mary barely looks up, pen skittering down another check sheet. "If that's not a box of Theobroma's dark chocolate butter cream truffles, I'm not interested."

Marshall smiles. "And if it is?"

That gets her to drop the pen and look up. "I'd say gimmee."

He lays the box on her desk. Mary just looks at it suspiciously. "Try it and see."

"You know I didn't get you anything." Mary scowls up at him, still making no move to take the box. "Christmas is just an over-priced guilt-fueled consumerist holiday designed to part you from your hard-earned cash. I don't fall for these things."

"Really?" Marshall smiles knowingly, shifting to lean against the edge of her desk. "Then the plaid-wrapped package in the bottom drawer of your desk...?"

"Isn't for you. And if it was for you, I must have bought it months ago." Mary is trying not to grin. "Why were you snooping in my desk, anyway? Admit it: you're a peeker."

"I might be the curious sort."

"Uh-huh." She cocks her head to the side and drops into a nostalgic tone. "I can just imagine you, in your footie Batman pajamas, sneaking down on Christmas Eve to try to catch Santa in the act."

Marshall tips his head in acknowledgment, but will never admit out loud to the footies. "I assume Christmas morning wasn't all joy and happiness chez Shannon, then?"

Mary snorts and pushes herself away from her desk. "If you count mom drinking all the egg nog and knocking over the tree when she passed out, oh, we had loads of fun." She pauses for a moment, eyes tracking around the room. Marshall knows this is where most people mishandle Mary; when they see that she's uncomfortable, they try to placate her.

Marshall just points her toward a target. "Did you ever string tinsel on her as she lay there, snoring gently?"

And Mary rewards him with a blissful smile, closing her eyes to better enjoy the image. "No, but I should have." She freezes again for a moment, then abruptly opens the bottom drawer of her desk and fishes out a box. "Here. Since you know what it is, anyway."

"I didn't look inside," Marshall says, catching the box automatically when Mary tosses it. Whatever is inside is rectangular, heavy, and slides in a way Marshall recognizes immediately as book-like. "I was just looking for some paperclips, and there it was."

"Paperclips are the top drawer," Mary reminds him. "Open it anyway."

Marshall carefully slides his fingers under the ribbon and tilts the lid. "It's -- _The Zombie Survival Guide_. How... useful?"

"It has lots of trivia," Mary says defensively. "I wouldn't want you to get eaten by zombies."

"Of course not," Marshall says, and shrugs theatrically. "Who would then come to your rescue in the third act of the film, only to be tragically bitten and die off-screen?"

Mary claps him on the shoulder and gives him a sympathetic look. "You know I'd shoot you before you became a zombie."

"And that is the true meaning of friendship." Marshall manages to hold a straight face until Mary cracks, and then they both laugh.

"Not that you were shopping in Barnes and Noble at the last minute and, in a moment of panic, bought the first book from the sale rack that you could lay your hands on?"

Mary shrugs. "Guilty as charged."

"Now open yours."

Mary rips into the gold paper with abandon. Inside is a box of dark chocolate butter cream truffles from Theobroma. "Aha! You do know me."

"One does one's best." Mary takes one of the truffles out of the box and shoves the whole thing into her mouth at once, moaning in pleasure. Marshall reaches a hand out, slowly and obviously, toward the box. "As your true friend and the purveyor of such delectable treats, I might deserve --"

As he expects, Mary slaps his hand away. "Get your own, peeker."

When she comes back from her afternoon coffee run, Mary shoves a Starbucks cup onto Marshall's desk without a glance, and Marshall lets her walk past without a thank-you. He knows it's one of the half-caf macchiatos he's been buying lately, and that it actually means more to both of them than the book.

Besides, in order to get it, Mary had to say the word macchiato in public.


End file.
